Author's Note at the very end!!! Please read chapter first.
———
The rest of the morning proves to be one hell of a nightmare for Rose Weasley.
While her strength lies in her ability to efficiently proofread departmental paperwork, her usual level of productivity is now marred by constant interruption.
As the personal assistant to the Head of the Department, it is in Rose's job description to act as the "director of first impressions" so to speak. In other words, every single witch or wizard who wants to schedule a professional and/or personal appointment with Mr. Malfoy during his business hours must schedule their appointment with Rose directly via in person, by charmed telephone, or by floo powder message. Not only that, but when a witch or wizard shows up for an appointment with Mr. Malfoy, Rose is expected to verify their identities and "check them in."
To ensure that all guests properly check in or schedule their appointments with Rose in order to avoid wasting Saint Limp Dick Malfoy's oh-so-precious time, her office has been charmed so that once any guest passes through the password-protected door that would usually lead to the stone corridor containing the different administrative offices and division entrances, they will instead find themselves right in the center of Rose Weasley's horrifically cramped office.
As the morning drags on, Rose realizes just how much she hates interacting with people. She especially hates being interrupted by an onslaught of impatient wankers while waist-deep in heavy paperwork that requires all of her concentration.
If it isn't the bloody chimney, it's the fucking telephone. If it's neither the chimney nor the telephone, then it's some overworked witch or wizard who would come barging into her office demanding that Rose schedule them an "urgent" meeting with Mr. Malfoy as soon as possible.
The worst part of it all is the fact that Rose is still almost completely covered in that horrific mixture of stinksap and grindylow ink that Malfoy oh-so-kindly hurled at her with his wand.
She did manage to effectively scourgify it off of her skin and out of her hair, but Malfoy wasn't kidding when he said that it stains clothes.
Her default set of work robes, blouse, and skirt are all officially ruined. Rose looks as if a ghoul vomited all over her, and the fact that her clothes smell like goblin piss has not gone unnoticed by the many guests who have walked in and out of her office.
"Dear, you do know your robes are covered in stinksap don't you?"
"Merlin! What is that stench?!?! Is that you, love?"
"Doesn't the Ministry have a mandatory bathing regulation for all employees?
Even better— some of Malfoy's guests also have the audacity to recognize Rose as the psycho ex-Holyheads Harpies beater who bludgeoned someone with a beater's bat in front of a full Quidditch stadium.
"Wait— you're Rose Weasley, aren't you? You used to play for the Holyhead Harpies!"
"I don't mean any offense, but how ever did you manage to land a ministry position after— y'know— what happened with the Kenmare Kestrals seeker?"
"I heard that every team in the British and Irish Quidditch League put out an active ban on your name. It must be tragic to never be able to play professionally again."
Despite being at her wit's end, and in an absolutely foul mood due to the "coffee incident," Rose manages to keep some semblance of civility and professionalism with all clients throughout the first part of her shift, and efficiently schedules all appointments while consecutively processing all departmental paperwork sent her way.
She only manages to control her anger when it comes to dealing with Malfoy's pesky clients because her obsessive need for perfection overpowers her immense dislike for people. If Rose cannot resort to physical violence (or slamming bludgers on the Quidditch pitch), her only other coping mechanism to keep her incessant anxiety at bay is to strive for absolute perfection while performing any activity, whether it be cleaning, paperwork, or customer service.
In other words, Rose successfully completes the first half of her shift while in an anxiety-induced mania fueled by her attempts at controlling her consistent rage through her obsessive need for professional perfection.
Not that anyone will ever understand that.
When noon rolls around, Rose realizes that she cannot take it anymore, and decides to clock out for lunch. She decides that now would be an optimal opportunity to go home, shower, and change out of her soiled clothing so that Malfoy's clients will stop wrinkling their noses in distaste and offering unwarranted, backhanded comments regarding her personal hygiene.
According to the attached schedule that darling Olivia Orford sent her last night, Mondays are supposed to be fairly light in terms of her scheduled "personal assistant" duties. Fortunately, there are no division meetings to be transcribed or random meals to be dropped off or picked up for the rest of the day— although she is expected to help Malfoy sort out his daily mail from 3:00 to 5:00 pm.
Thinking that maybe a good rinse and some angry screaming into her fluffy pillow will do her some good, Rose floos home with every intention of avoiding both of her flatmates so as to evade any interrogation as to why she looks and smells like hippogriff diarrhea.
However, it seems that the deities have other plans for Rose.
The first thing she hears before she stumbles out of the fireplace and into her living room are two familiar voices.
"He was balls deep in her, Lils. Balls deep."
"I get it, Al. I don't need the imagery."
"I was going to ask her to marry me. Merlin, I'm an idiot!"
"You're not an idiot. She's just a fucking slag, and you deserve so much better."
Rose blinks a few times in surprise at the sight of a sympathetic Lily Potter comfortingly rubbing the back of her older brother Albus, who looks as if someone devoured his heart for breakfast and shat it back out into his mouth.
Despite her original intent to avoid any and all social interaction, her curiosity gets the best of her. It isn't very often (try never) that Rose walks in on Lily comforting an overwhelmingly woeful Albus Potter.
"What did I miss?" Rose interjects as she shakes the soot from her shoes.
"What did you miss?" Lily pipes up incredulously as she gives Rose a once over. "What did I miss? Did a ghoul vomit on you or something?"
Rose scowls in response. "Malfoy happened. End of story. Why is Albus crying his eyes out in our living room?"
Before Lily can reply, Albus shoots Rose a watery sneer through puffy green eyes. "You probably deserved it. You've always been such a goddamn bitch to him."
Rose just rolls her eyes coldly in response. At this point in her life, she's immune to Albus's criticisms and insults regarding her treatment of his stupid "best mate." Thanks to his friendship with Scorpius sodding Malfoy, Rose's once sturdy relationship with Albus has devolved into one of strained, lukewarm bickering at best, and has stayed that way for the past sixteen years.
However, familial ties are strong amongst members of the Weasley-Potter clan, and Rose still holds an immense amount of love for Albus within the depths of her frigid heart.
"What happened?" Rose demands.
Albus lets out a devastated groan in response and then covers his face with both hands, his head hanging low in utter defeat. Lily lets out a dismal sigh, her hand still tracing circles on her brother's back as she answers:
"He went home for lunch and caught Grace fucking some bloke in their bed."
Rose's mouth drops open in shock.
Grace Evers? Darling, loyal Grace Evers? The absolute apple of Albus's eye for nine solid years straight? The sweet-as-caramel dame that Albus had spent over three months planning an extravagant marriage proposal for?
Grace Evers… cheated on Albus?
In their fucking bed?
Rose feels her chest constrict violently as the beast in her belly rears its ugly head.
"I will kill her," Rose whispers in a deadly voice.
"Oh, shut up," spits Albus condescendingly, fresh tears threatening to exit the corners of his eyes. "Last thing I need is to be the fucking reason you finally end up in Azkaban."
"Who's the bloke? I'll iron his fucking bollocks off," Rose continues harshly, ignoring Albus's scathing comment.
"We're not telling you, because you already owe Athena Nott ten thousand galleons, and I'd really rather not have a team of aurors bust our door down and arrest you for actual murder," Lily elaborates, fixing Rose with a stern glare.
"A man doesn't need his bollocks to live," growls Rose venomously, her hands now clenched into fists.
She and Albus may be at odds most of the time, but nobody fucks with any of her family members without paying for it.
"I'd beg to differ," deadpans Albus, who looks all types of miserable and disheveled. With a dejected sigh, he shrugs his sister's comforting hand off and jumps to his feet, towering over Rose at well over six feet tall.
Albus fixes Rose with a frighteningly determined look that permeates his waterlogged emerald green eyes. "His name is Callum Whittle. He is the night shift supervisor for Quality Quidditch Supplies in Diagon Alley. He is there every weekend."
He then points a finger at her sternly, his eyes narrowing dangerously. "Absolutely NO physical violence or unforgivable curses. No permanent damage either. I mean it Rose."
"Well you're no fun." Rose rolls her eyes, but cannot help the devious smirk that makes its way onto her freckled lips at the prospect of inflicting pain on the pathetic sod that shagged her cousin's girlfriend. "What about the dirty whore? Can I fuck her up too?"
"Under no circumstances will you go anywhere near Grace," hisses Albus angrily, his voice shaking slightly as he utters her name. "And don't call her that either. It's disrespectful."
"Seriously?!" Rose shrieks incredulously, her blood boiling with unbridled rage. "What's disrespectful is shagging some random fucking broom shop manager in your boyfriend's bloody bed."
Albus holds a hand up in a swift motion as if to silence Rose, a solemn, but steely expression etched on his rather handsome face.
"She is—was my girlfriend. Go ballistic on Whittle for all I care, but do NOT lay a finger on Grace. I will handle her."
"Fine," snaps Rose begrudgingly as she crosses her arms across her chest petulantly. "If you don't break up with her though, I will come after the both of you."
"Now hold the bloody fuck up."
An angry and exasperated Lily Potter jumps to her feet and stands in between her two taller relatives, a look of fiery disappointment etched on her pretty face.
"You two are vengeful dolts. How exactly is cursing Whittle— or whatever the fuck you plan to do to him— going to help you achieve anything?" she scolds the two of them, her hands on her hips in a very 'Grandma Weasley'-like fashion. "Even if you don't beat the shit out of him or use an unforgivable curse, you can't just waltz into Quality Quidditch Supplies and hex him while he's working. There will be witnesses! The Daily Prophet would have a fucking field day over something like this!!"
"Do you really think I'm stupid enough to just walk in and hex him while he's on the sales floor pitching broomsticks to sodding first years?" Rose hisses through gritted teeth.
"After witnessing you bludgeon Athena Nott with a beater's bat in front of a full Quidditch stadium, I would say yes," Lily snaps coldly in response before rounding on Albus.
"I can't believe you are encouraging her! I know you're hurt, Al, but you have to remember who you are. You have an aunt as Minister of Magic and a father who saved the whole wizarding world! Believe me, I want to see this Whittle bloke skewered to bits as much as you do, but there must be another way to handle this!"
"Just shut the fuck up, Lily!" yells Albus furiously, angry tears leaking out of the corners of his green eyes once again. "You don't fucking get it at all. You have never once had your heart broken. You don't know what it's like to see the love of your life get the bloody life fucked out of her by some other bloke. So don't you dare tell me what I should or shouldn't do right now."
Rose feels an uneasy lurch in her stomach at Albus's words, while Lily falters at his volume and sudden burst of raw anger.
A look of pity flashes over the youngest Potter's face for a brief second as she beholds her brother, who has now fallen back to his seat on the couch, his face buried in his hands as another wave of grief overtakes him.
She then lets out a dejected sigh, a look of half hearted disappointment crossing over her face as her hazel eyes fall to the floor. "Fine. Do what you need to do. Just try to be as discreet as possible, yeah? We don't need any more negative media attention."
"Right. Discreet," sneers Rose with relish.
Lily just scowls at Rose as if she is the most obnoxious being to exist on the entire planet.
"For Merlin's sake, just go change your goddamn robes. You look and smell like absolute shite."
——
An hour into her lunch period, Rose manages to snag an isolated, corner table at the Leaky Cauldron for a quick bite to eat. Her mind is still reeling uncontrollably over the fact that Grace Evers cheated on Albus Severus Potter.
Grace is supposed to be sweet. Loyal. A sodding Hufflepuff for Merlin's sake. At least, that's how most of the world, including Rose, has seen her for the past sixteen years.
Rose doesn't believe that even a bloody seer would have been able to predict this. For as long as they've been together, Grace Evers and Albus Potter were the ideal pair. They were the couple that made one want to vomit due to their gross levels of PDA. They were the couple that rarely fought. They were virtually inseparable. They were just so in love and it was just so obvious to everyone—
…and Albus was supposed to propose to her in two fucking weeks.
So how the fuck did Grace Evers end up with some random, barely-above-minimum-wage-making, backalley-broom-shop-working, Cleansweep-Seven-grade COCK buried in her dirty cunt?
Not to mention in their shared bed?
In their flat that Albus pays for in full every month?
Technically, it's actually his flat.
His bedroom.
His bed.
Rose scowls and stuffs another scalding forkful of her shepherd's pie into her already burnt mouth to prevent herself from violently kicking the legs of the empty chair positioned across the table from her, which would undoubtedly cause a scene.
A thorough shower and a change of clothing back at home did little for Rose's bleak temperament. The scalding hot shepherd's pie she ordered from the Leaky Cauldron seems to improve her mood just a little bit; though, she still feels fairly murderous towards Grace Evers and her nasty little side-piece Callum buttfuck Whittle.
Once she swallows her mouthful of piping hot pie, Rose lets out a frustrated sigh and pushes her plate away from her.
Though she now sports a fresh set of black robes, and her usually unruly red curls are successfully tucked back into an elegant knot, she cannot shake the foul smell of that stinksap-grindylow-ink goop from her nostrils. Not to mention she is less than enthused at the prospect of dealing with shitty clients and helping Señor Stinksap Malfoy with his mail for the rest of the day.
She lets out a small groan, her head falling onto the edge of the table.
How the fuck is she supposed to do this every day and not lose her marbles?
At least the first of her all-inclusive therapy sessions at St. Mungo's start this Wednesday. They definitely aren't a walk in the park, but they have helped her in the past.
With her forehead still resting against the sharp edge of the table, Rose closes her eyes and allows herself to become momentarily lost in the mild hustle and bustle of the historic pub.
She takes a deep breath and attempts to relax her muscles, a majority of which feel twisted and tense with stress.
Rose briefly wonders what this Callum Whittle bloke looks like. Probably like some smarmy pasty tosser with a mediocre dick.
Before she can further elaborate on her current train of thought, the high-pitched, jingling sound of the doorbell snaps Rose out of her reverie. Her quick reflexes cause her to immediately sit back up properly in her seat and nonchalantly brush the front of her robes off in the span of about two seconds in an unconscious attempt to avoid any possible judgment for laying her head down at the table.
Rose's blue eyes immediately fall on the attractive couple that has just entered the pub, immediately annoyed at them for triggering the blasted doorbell that interrupted her half-hearted nap.
Wait a minute.
Rose blinks a few times and squints her eyes in disbelief at the couple, who are slowly making their way to the bar with hands tightly intertwined and heads pressed close together as they speak softly and affectionately to each other in low inaudible voices.
You have got to be shitting me.
The furious Weasley glares heinously as Saint Scorpius Wanking Malfoy laughs silkily before steering a furiously blushing and doe-eyed Olivia Fucking Orford toward a pair of stools at the far end of the bar. He pulls one of the stools out and motions for Olivia to sit down. She lets out a small flirtatious giggle in response before taking her seat, her hungry eyes never once leaving Malfoy.
How disgusting.
To be honest, Rose isn't all that surprised.
She likes to consider herself an adequately observant person, and all the cute little blushes and poorly concealed looks of desire for Malfoy on Olivia's behalf have not gone unnoticed.
It only makes sense that Malfoy would be be able to fuck his goddamn employee and get away with it.
The world is fucked up after all.
His sinister words from this morning after "the coffee incident" buzz across her brain like an annoyingly persistent mosquito.
"I can get away with anything, and you will get away with absolutely nothing."
Something within the fragile depths of Rose's subconscious stirs. Her stomach lurches violently, and she feels that all-too-familiar constriction in her chest. Her face heats up, and her blood starts to boil as she glares holes into the back of Scorpius Malfoy's obnoxiously blonde head.
Rose cannot help but watch the two of them from her partially concealed corner table.
Malfoy motions for the barman with all the authority of an aristocrat. Once the barman has his attention, he leans forward ever so slightly to presumably place his order, and then the barman is fast at work about five seconds later, using his wand to concoct what looks like a pair of sophisticated alcoholic drinks.
Olivia still has her eyes glued to Malfoy's languid figure. Her usual "frigid-bitch" aura has completely vanished, only to be replaced with this random dewy-eyed schoolgirl. She reaches out and places a demure hand on Malfoy's shoulder for a brief second before letting her nails gently rake down the side of his arm affectionately.
Malfoy turns his head to look at the older woman, a soft smile gracing his otherwise cold features. They exchange a few intimate words, and then Malfoy leans in and starts snogging the living shit out of Olivia, the lithe fingers of his right hand immediately tangling in her short black hair.
And darling Olivia is oh-too-enthusiastic to respond. She melts into him like butter, her hands immediately roaming his toned shoulders, his back, his neck, his already tousled blonde hair…
An overwhelming sense of deja-vu floods Rose's brain at dizzying levels, and she starts to wish that she hadn't eaten her shepherd's pie so fast.
This is just her bloody luck.
All she wanted was to go home, shower, change, and then eat a peaceful lunch at the Leaky Cauldron so that she can hopefully find it within herself to make it through the rest of her shift without causing another unnecessary scene.
But ohhh, no. It can never be that simple for Rose Weasley.
Karma's a bitch after all, and Rose hasn't necessarily been on the good side of Karma as of late.
Given that the disgustingly attractive pair are too busy devouring each other's faces to be aware of her presence, Rose decides that right now is her best chance to exit the pub unnoticed. She jumps to her feet and makes her way towards the front door as quickly as her feet will allow her.
The sharp jingling sound of the bell caused by her opening the front door causes both Malfoy and Olivia to break their nasty little tongue-dance just as she makes her exit.
And in the split second right before she walks out the door, Rose swears she can feel a pair of steely gray eyes venomously slicing into the flesh of her neck.
———-
Rose feels utterly drained.
Though she thrives in a fast-paced work environment, the brooding, less-than-likeable Weasley isn't built for this volume of human interaction and customer service.
Luckily, the second half of her shift proves to be significantly slower in terms of scheduling, checking in, and interacting with clients. This gives her a solid hour to complete any time-sensitive, departmental paperwork before her dreaded two-hour mail-sorting party with Malfoy.
Speaking of the womanizing, employee-fucking wanker…
She cannot shake the cursed image of Malfoy fervently and shamelessly snogging Olivia Orford at the Leaky Cauldron from her brain. No matter how hard she tries to concentrate on her paperwork, the scene keeps playing over and over again before her eyes like some muggle movie set on repeat.
Rose dots her 'i' with unintended force, and she accidentally punctures a hole straight through the parchment.
Stupid.
She feels absolutely stupid for letting something as insignificant as a little PDA between two of her shitty coworkers affect her so much that she had to fucking leave the establishment.
But then again… it was Scorpius Malfoy sticking his tongue down that poor girl's throat.
Oh, the horror.
Rose shudders before waving her wand over the parchment to seal up the hole she had just furiously created with her quill.
Just as Rose places the document onto the "completed" pile, the door to her office swings open swiftly and in steps a tall, breathtaking brunette with the cruelest pair of ice-cold blue eyes she has ever seen.
If Rose feels self-conscious and unattractive around Olivia Orford, then this woman makes her feel like an absolute troll.
From her fancy, form hugging robes to her perfectly perky breasts and long, tan legs, this mysterious brunette is literally dripping with sex, money, and pure unadulterated malice.
And then Rose realizes that this mysterious brunette isn't so mysterious at all.
Suddenly, her insides are replaced with an unpleasant mixture of ice and lead. Though Rose feels that all-too-familiar rage build up within her chest, it's kept at bay by a frigid hesitance that she doesn't feel very often.
A frigid hesitance marked by fear.
"Octavia Montague."
Rose hisses her name venomously as she sits up just a little straighter at her desk.
A cold smirk graces Octavia's lips as she flips her hair over her shoulder. "It's Octavia Malfoy, now. I've come to pay my husband a visit. What is an unhinged, psychopathic trollop like yourself doing here, Weasley? Shouldn't you be in Azkaban?"
Rose almost snorts out loud at her utter stupidity, but instead opts for a cruel smile of her own as she holds her arms up and sarcastically motions around her.
"This is my office. I work here now. I don't know what your beloved shit-storm of a husband told you, but I'm his new administrative and personal assistant," Rose gloats with evil satisfaction. "And he has made it very clear that guests aren't allowed without a scheduled appointment."
While she doesn't actually have any intention of preventing Octavia from visiting her husband, Rose cannot help but fuck with her just a little bit.
It really is no surprise that Scorpius Malfoy ended up marrying his consistently on-again, off-again bitch of Hogwarts sweetheart.
It makes sense after all. Both Octavia Montague and Scorpius Malfoy are immensely attractive individuals from prominent pureblood families that have been sorted into Slytherin for generations. They both also happen to be cantankerous, stuck up, and downright nasty pieces of shit that have a knack for being grossly unfaithful to each other.
Some people just never change.
A look of shock briefly passes over Octavia's beautiful face before it's replaced with a deadly fury that can give even Rose's anger a run for its money.
"You work here?" she spits in a low voice, advancing a few steps forward.
Rose instinctively flinches backwards, her fingers wrapping around her wand defensively as she glares back at the deadly vixen.
Nevertheless, she manages to keep the cruel smile on her lips, refusing to break eye contact with dear Mrs. Malfoy.
"Oh? He didn't tell you?" croons Rose innocently. "My, my. Looks like somebody needs to have a little talk with their husband about keeping secrets. I heard that St. Mungo's has an amazing marriage counseling program. You should look into it."
Octavia looks as if she wants nothing more than to slice Rose open and eat her guts for dinner. A sadistic smile that resembles more of a sneer creeps onto her otherwise perfectly shaped lips.
"You better watch yourself, Miss Rosie-Posie Weasley," she warns in a deadly voice that makes Rose's stomach lurch unpleasantly.
"The only reason why you don't face any real consequences for your pathetic temper tantrums is because your mummy is Minister of Magic. But that doesn't mean shit to me. Consider this a threat, Weasel. I will personally fuck you up if you try anything. I've done it once, and I will do it again."
A heavy silence permeates the chilling space between the two angry women.
Rose feels her heart slam furiously against her chest as she beholds Octavia Montag—Malfoy in all her cunty glory.
She wants to lunge herself across her desk and throttle the stupid bitch until she turns an ugly shade of blue. She wants to crucio her until her screams fill the cramped space of her office.
But she just can't.
For more reasons than one.
So instead, Rose points her wand at her office door, temporarily lifting the Employees Only charm and allowing guest access to the stone corridor that leads to Malfoy's office.
"Get the fuck out of my sight," she spits darkly at Octavia, who smiles evilly in triumph.
"What an impressive display of self-control. I'm glad we understand each other," the evil vixen responds with relish before turning her back to Rose with a dramatic swish of her perfect brown hair.
Just before Octavia makes her exit, however, Rose offers one last back-handed sentiment.
"You should join your dear husband and darling Olivia Orford for lunch at the Leaky Cauldron next time. I'm sure you three would have some lovely conversations in between their snogging sessions."
———
A/N: Okay, so I lied.
There will be ONE more chapter covering Rose's first day. In the previous chapter, I mentioned that this chapter will encompass the rest of her day, which was supposed to include her two-hour, one-on-one "mail sorting" meeting with Malfoy.
For the sake of condensation, and so that I don't rush-write any important scenes that contain one-on-one ScoRose interaction, I've decided to dedicate a large part of the next chapter to Rose's dreaded "mail sorting party" with Malfoy.
This chapter is dedicated to introducing new characters and arcs, which will all prove to be pivotal parts to this story and this particular ScoRose relationship.
So I'm curious— what are your first impressions of Scorpius's wife? Or the fact that he's having an affair with the Department recruiter?
What about Albus and his relationship with Rose?
Any comments? Predictions?
Please, please, please leave a review! I absolutely love and appreciate all reviews (as long as you're not trolling lol).